Scarlet Flowers
by CheeseCakeKitty15
Summary: Alfred F. Jones is the prized hitman of the A.H.A; ruthless, untouchable, practically a god. However, when his newest mission introduces him to Arthur Kirkland, his target of the rival organisation, and feelings begin to blossom for the other assassin, Alfred is forced to choose between his love and his life.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey Guys and Gals, CheeseCakeKitty here again with another story! I have been thinking about this one for quite a while now and am quite excited to be finally getting around to writing it! For future reference going to try and keep the Author's Notes at a minimum (I might not even do them at all in future chapters) so this will probably be the longest one you see until the end. Also, I will be making Arthur and Alfred's ages a lot more similar because I think that it would make the story work a bit better and some of the plot points and conversations make more sense. This is my first attempt at writing from a first-person perspective, so please do tell me how and I did and how I can improve! I hope that you enjoy it!**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.**

Twiddling my thumbs and looking down towards my feet, my mind raced like a free stallion of infinite possibility as my boss went over my new mission for the first time. It was such a big task, a massive one really, but I would have never thought that he would put me up to the job. We were alone in the cold office, it was barren and slightly haunting, aside from the glass window covering the entirety of the wall to the left of me, giving me an utterly spectacular view of the city underneath the warm morning rays of the sun.

I could hear my boss talking to me and the sound of constant tapping on his laptop, but my mind had travelled elsewhere the second he had given the the job's brief. The power of the whole company would be resting in my hands if I took this opportunity, so naturally I began to fantasize about me being a world-renowned hero, loved by all. We all have our little dream-worlds that we go to sometimes.

"Jones, are you paying attention?" the boss's voice sliced through my conscience like a knife through butter and I could feel his gaze on my face.

"Ugh… Yes, Sir, certainly!" I replied sheepishly, scratching the back of my head to get rid of my nerves, "But can you please explain it again. I… Umm… I feel like I need to understand it a bit better."

It was a weak excuse, and I knew that he had not fallen for it by any stretch of the imagination, but fortunately for me he knew what I was like and was kind enough to give me the time of day. I heard him lowly sigh and saw him rolling his thin eyes despairingly before he repeated the information again to me.

"Your task is to kill the top assassin of our rival company, Aeternam Organisation, as the association is posing a threat to ours. Taking out their very best will lower them steadily in the rankings, and bring us back to our former glory before they snatched it away from us. Hell, they might even go bankrupt!" he laughed manically to himself before continuing, "The assassin's name is Arthur Kirkland, and I assure you, though he may not look it at first, he is truly a formidable man; a force to be reckoned with. He is exceptional at close combat and-"

"But Sir!" I cut him off loudly, earning a glare in my direction, "If he's so great, how on Earth am I gonna be able to kill him? I'm only twenty, an' I haven't even been doing this for that long!"

He held his hand up in a 'stop' motion, bringing an end to my panicked rant. "He's only a few months older than you are, and besides, age doesn't matter when it comes to skill. Aeternam thinks we are trying to improve relations by sending our top hitmen to meet up and participate in missions together. You will have plenty of chances to strike."

I took a few steps closer to his desk and put my hands on its smooth surface, locking eyes with him filled with curiosity. "When and where am I meeting him?"

"Today, in a little place called the Rosebush Café."

That bit of information was a shock to the system and I stumbled back a little in disbelief. Today? In a little café as if we were just friends? What would the boss have done if I wasn't now so eager to accept the mission? He'd probably force me and threaten to have me fired!

"How will I know who he is?" I said nervously after regaining my composure.

"You will both have your business cards with you and I have a photograph of him here, as they do of you."

He typed in something quickly, before turning around his laptop to reveal to me the other assassin's photo. He had large eyebrows resting above glistening green eyes which honestly had me captivated; shiny and silky looking blond hair appearing to be somewhat in a permanent state of bedhead. His skin was slightly paler than my own and his face was thin with a well-defined jawline. His lips showed no expression, so this must have been the picture on his card which would confirm his identity once I finally would meet him. Something about his appearance excited me: he looked like he should be a posh aristocrat or a wealthy businessman, not an assassin. That just made me look forward to meeting him even more.

I wondered what his reaction to my photo would be. It took me at least ten tries to get it right since I couldn't stop grinning or playing up to the camera as if I were a model. Eventually, they just had to wear me down so I at least looked half-serious, though if you looked closely you could still see a ghost of a smile on my face.

"Ok then, what's his personality like?" I questioned with a newfound vigour which had previously been missing. I wanted to know who he was as a person so that I could easily formulate a plan to kill him. The boss only shrugged his shoulders in response.

"I'm not sure." He said, turning his laptop back around so that he could type again, "However, trust is going to play a very large part in your task. That is what you must earn from him to eliminate him. I have been told that he finds it difficult to rely on people, but give it a few missions together and see how far it gets you. Once you have earnt his trust, killing him will be like taking candy from a baby."

"I see." I pondered on my thoughts for a little bit, tapping my chin with my finger. "So, I meet up with him, make him think that we are friends, then kill him." I chuckled darkly to myself. "What missions will we be doing?"

"There is a brief of each one on his laptop, so once you find him, you can choose a mission to get yourselves started. Oh, and by the way, you will be sharing an apartment. Aeternam thinks it will 'improve relations' even more. Don't try any funny business there, though."

"Why not?"

"They have special surveillance which will tell them if anything bad is going on, as do we. If you do anything that they deem 'off', you'll end up in chains and this whole company will go bust, and _you_ will also probably be sentenced a harsh punishment."

Nervously, I gulped and widened my eyes. This was certainly not going to be as easy as I first thought it would be. Not once in my career so far have I been caught, and I intended to keep it that way.

"So, Jones?" my boss questioned, fixating his icy gaze on my eyes, "Will you take the mission?"

I weighed out my options in my head. I would be learning new ways to kill and how to function properly in co-operative missions, not to mention that it would bring me great success if done right. On the downside, one wrong move would land me in prison. I had to consider that too. It was now or never.

"I'll take it."

The boss chuckled again. "I thought you might. But, before you go, recite the A.H.A Assassin Rules one more time, just so you don't forget. After all," his voice darkened into a menacing growl, "I'm sure you know exactly what happens if you break them."

No assassin in my company would ever dare break the rules, and everybody sure knew what your punishment would be if they were violated. You would be promptly killed, simple as that, as well as anybody who perhaps knew anything about your job who wasn't in the company just for good measure.

"Number 1." I started with a shaky breath, "Do not disclose any information about your mission to those outside the American Hitman Association. Number 2: You must have no romantic relationships of any kind to anybody outside of the A.H.A. Number 3: You must not get attached to your target. Number 4: Do not get caught by the authorities. Number 5: Complete your mission, no matter the cost."

"Very good, Jones." The boss muttered under his breath, "Now go. I can assure that you will be paid handsomely for this."

I walked towards the door, briefcase in my hand swinging freely besides my legs. I pushed it open gingerly and, before it closed completely, I heard the boss whisper,

"Do not let Kirkland get out of this one alive."

The hustling streets I wandered through on my way to the café lifted my spirits significantly as the scent of freshly baked cookies and pumpkin wafted around the crowds. I liked to listen to the people talking as they strolled along, and to imagine what they did before then; I like to think that this is somebody's hometown-a place that they've had so many memories in that I couldn't even begin to comprehend-but to them I'm just another person passing by.

The Rosebush Café wasn't too far away from the massive office block I had come from, only about a fifteen-minute walk, but it still felt like I had trekked across half the country. The place looked very friendly and inviting, with the signboards painted in a pretty, dusty pink and its full-length windows. It had two colourful rose bushes on either side of the entrance that had a little silver bell on it which made a sweet twinkling noise when the door was opened.

When I walked in, my eyes scanned the area in an attempt to spot my target. I saw groups of teenage girls huddled round tables sipping hot chocolates topped high with cream and marshmallows, families, friends and couples chatting eagerly and munching on slices of red velvet cake.

I decided to order myself a coffee and do a little more searching whilst it was being prepared. Eventually, my eyes landed on a man sitting in a small booth in the corner of the café, a steaming cup of tea next to his silver laptop which he was staring at intently whilst typing. He was definitely who I was looking for. No doubt about it. He had the large eyebrows and the thin face, and his eyes seemed to sparkle even more than they did in his photograph.

Picking up my coffee and nearly burning myself in the process of trying to take a sip, I shuffled to his table and quietly cleared my throat to get his attention. When that didn't work, I mustered a feeble, "Hello…?" before he lifted his head to look at me. Almost instantly, he recognised me, smiling and scooting over a little bit to make room for me on the seat.

"Hello there." He greeted me, his clipped yet pleasant English accent startling me as I was not prepared for it, "Nice to meet you! Alfred F. Jones, I presume?"

"Yep!" I replied, laughing like a child as I started to relax a bit, "You must be Arthur Kirkland then!"

The Englishman fumbled in his bag for a few seconds before pulling out his business card and showing it to me. "Indeed, I am." He shoved it back into one of his trouser pockets, "But please, just call me Arthur."

"Oh, ok then." I said, taking a long swig of my coffee, "Then I guess you can call me Alfred!"

He smiled at me again and this time I returned it before he went back to scrolling on his laptop. I managed to keep myself to myself for about ten seconds, but curiosity soon got the better of me and I ended up craning my neck to peer over his shoulder. Just like my boss had said, the screen displayed all the various missions we could choose from. The missions I would be using to wrap Arthur round my little finger.

I glanced over at my target, whose eyebrow was annoyedly twitching (probably as a result of me). His eyes moved to look at me, "What are you doing?" he grumbled.

"I just want to see the missions we're gonna do together!" I whined, getting a mere roll of the eyes from the assassin.

"Firstly, it's 'going to' not 'gonna', and secondly, if you wanted to help me chose, you could have just asked."

He turned the laptop slightly so we could both see it at the same time, before he started quietly reading each task aloud to me. My baby-blue eyes scanned the laptop's screen for a while, then one mission in particular caught my eye.

"Hang on a second," I interrupted, pointing at the grey box on the illuminated screen, "Click on that one."

Doing as he was told, I saw Arthur smile devilishly upon reading the mission and eagerly clicking the accept button within seconds. He turned off and closed his laptop, placing it gently in his rucksack, then giving said rucksack to the man in the booth next to us whilst whispering something in his ear sternly.

"Alright, Alfred, we've got ourselves a job. Get your briefcase and let's go."

"Wait what? Arthur slow down!" My head was practically spinning like a whirlpool as I grabbed the other man's sleeve to stop him from leaving without me. "Where are we going and what are we doing?"

He paused and sat back down, turning back to me with determination and murderous intent in his big emerald eyes. "Two rich wankers down in the country-husband and wife. They run a dodgy cannabis plantation in Mexico and they treat their workers like dirt. One of them has clearly gotten contact with my company and want them taken out. What do you say?"

I nodded, smirking, "Let's go."

This was it. The trigger was being pulled, the kick starter to my proper mission. As he grabbed my sleeve and pulled me out of the café and towards the train station, my mind was running wild again. I would have so many chances, _opportunities_ , to strike, to carry out the true mission I have been assigned to.

The mission that would change my life forever.

 **Thank you for reading the first chapter! If you enjoyed it, please do perhaps drop a review telling me how I did! Constructive criticism is always appreciated also as I would love to know how I can improve! See you next chapter!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you so much to all the lovely people who have followed, favourited, and reviewed so far! It means so much to me! I hope you enjoy this chapter!**

 **Disclaimer: I still don't own Hetalia.**

I ended up colliding with an awful lot of people as I was roughly yanked through the street, so I wouldn't have been all that surprised if I had a little bruise on my shoulder by the time we had made it to the suspiciously-quiet train station. There were only about five other people standing on the same platform as us, and I honestly had no idea what to say to Arthur, though I was snickering mentally at the fact that I was a quite a lot taller than him. He, meanwhile, looked to be fairly deep in thought, and was lazily fiddling with the silver clips on his black briefcase.

When the train pulled into the station, I eagerly scampered on, managing to get the pair of us a four-seater, shaped a bit like a square, with a table in the middle. I swung round the back of chairs and flung myself across them, placing myself next to the big window with my luggage on the one free seat beside me. Arthur sat down in the chair directly opposite, so he too could gaze at the landscape, also putting his case on the seat next to his. He slyly opened it and pulled out some paper and a fancy-looking pencil, as well as his phone from his pocket, before slamming the black box shut again and clicking to clips to seal it.

It was at that moment I realised that it would be this way for three long hours as we made our way down to the countryside, and when I also realised that I had absolutely no idea where exactly we were going. I broke my gaze from the little corner shops we whizzed by through the window and turned my attention to my target, who was busy scribbling down an elaborate diagram on the paper. I leant forward, and, from what I could gather, it looked like the blueprints of a house with a very large garden and massive sheds on its outskirts.

"What are you doing?" I asked, turning the paper around so we could both see what written on it. Just as I suspected, it was indeed the plan of a large estate, with labels in elegant cursive saying where everything was. I glanced at his phone screen which displayed exactly the same picture, except with no writing. "Can you explain where we're going please? I mean, you literally just dragged me here with little to no information so I-"

"Yes, yes, I know." Arthur interrupted me with exasperation, which I mentally counted as the second time I had been cut off today, "I was just about to do that. Now shut up and listen to me because I will only explain this once."

I nodded solemnly. If I carried out this mission well, he would begin to trust me a little, which would build up until he thought he knew me like he knows his own mind. Until he was just a little puppet which I could toy with.

He pointed at a large box on the diagram to the left of the garden. "That is the Master Bedroom. The husband and wife should be in there since they, from I have been told, don't actually do any work; they just sit there and watch tv whilst their employees complete all their paperwork and such."

For the next half hour or so, Arthur continued to point out every place on the estate and tell me pretty much all I needed to know about it: what work was done there, who would be there, and the select times people would. I mapped out the mansion in my head, taking mental notes of all possible routes and the directions of the ventilation system which I could use to crawl through.

The train halted numerous times at the many stops on the way to our destination, so we kept having to hide the suspicious drawings and writings from the public's eyes by sneakily covering them with our elbows and hands, pretending to just merely chat about ordinary things like university and baking, both of which we knew next to nothing about.

Fortunately for us, everybody who did chose to get on sat as far away from each other as humanly possible, which meant that Arthur and I could speak in a fairly loud tone of voice and nobody would hear since they too were also talking excessively (if there even _is_ such a thing).

"So, Alfred." The other assassin began, locking eyes with me seriously, "Are you going to go for the husband, or the wife."

"Hmmm…" I thought about it for a moment, gazing out the window to see the winding motorway through the trees. I like to use guns when carrying out my missions and, therefore, are (not to brag) incredibly good with them all round; accuracy, range, and quick-firing especially. "Well, what's the plan?"

He started drawing arrows on the paper, "Alright, so I was thinking that they would probably be in their bedroom, so that would give us the perfect opportunity to get them from there. They wouldn't be able to escape through any windows since the room is so far up, and we would be able to block the only door. You're more of a gun-assassin, aren't you?"

I nodded, pushing up my glasses a little.

"Perfect. I prefer close range myself. My plan was that you could crawl through the ventilation system and create a hole just big enough for you to shoot and see through. Then, I will bust open the bedroom door and they will be too distracted by the fact that a stranger has just broke into their house to notice you. You then shoot whoever is standing furthest away from me so the other one will turn around, which will give me the chance to run up and slice their throat. Does that all make sense?"

Yet again, I nodded my head, however I still had doubts. "Won't there be security cameras and guards?" I asked.

"Maybe. You can probably get access to the control room if there is one and disable the cameras from there, though they probably don't actually have any because the footage of the farms could be used against them in court. On the off chance that they do have guards, which I highly doubt, just avoid them."

A slightly sadistic laugh came from my mouth before I could stop it. "Can't we just kill them?"

"That wouldn't be necessary." Arthur sighed at my impulsiveness, "They are not our targets; therefore, we have no reason to kill them. And besides, it would make us look bad."

Look bad? I will admit, I didn't at all understand what he meant when he said that. My boss had always told me that killing all present would be the best option, leaving no survivors, no matter their age or anything like that. Apparently, Aeternam did things differently, and I was curious to ask how much difference our companies actually had, but I decided against it.

As the Englishman went back to staring out the window and losing himself in thought, I pondered how I could use this plan to my advantage. That was when the idea struck me like an arrow. The second after I shoot the husband or the wife, I could turn the gun on Arthur and then the final target, killing not two, but _three_ birds with one bullet-loaded stone.

I had to fight the urge to smile like a madman, but the thought festered in my mind and leaped to the front of it.

The next couple of hours on the train were rather ordinary. Arthur doodled some pictures on the back of the piece of paper and I played some games on my phone to pass the time. At one point, a lady pushing a trolley of snacks and drinks passed by and I decided to buy myself a coke, which I later downed whilst daydreaming towards the end of our journey.

Once we finally got off the train, we instantly set off in the direction of the estate, the plan in Arthur's trouser pocket just in case we needed it. It was only a half-hour walk away, but we still had a little time to go over the objective of the mission one last time, just in case one of us missed something.

The estate itself was evidently big, enormous in fact, but it had a long and winding driveway which seemed to be the gateway to another magical world, and was completely shrouded in tall, looming bushes, as well as rows of imposing oak trees. However, as fancy as the entrance was, we didn't see a security camera anywhere, thus we just casually strode down the gravel, as if we were family just visiting.

When we got close to the mansion's redwood doors, Arthur stealthily pulled me to the side behind a conveniently placed rose bush and opened both of our briefcases. I watched him first as he lifted a large, silver butterfly knife with a camouflage-green handle from his case, before he gently closed and locked it, shoving it carelessly inside the bush. Then, I lifted my own weapon from the other box; my favourite, actually. A jet-black Ruger Mk ll, with polished sliver metal, sleek enough to hide whilst I would be sneaking around. I used this gun only on special missions, but I decided that Arthur deserved a bullet from no lesser than the best. It was already fully loaded.

After putting my own briefcase in to the bush where the other one was, we both vaulted over the white window sill and into the kitchen. The place was so eerily silent; it seemed pretty much deserted, apart from the sound of a tv blaring at full volume upstairs, from the bedroom which would soon be just as quiet as the rest of the estate, its fancy décor red with bloodstains.

Looking up, I saw a vent which was the perfect size for me to crawl through and (luckily) no security cameras to speak of. I pointed it out to Arthur and he stacked a chair up onto the counter, which allowed me to detach the vent's lid and crawl inside. Once I did, I grinned and gave him the thumbs up, hoping that it all goes well.

"Good luck." Arthur said to me earnestly before he darted out of the room with his butterfly knife behind his back, "Don't screw this up."

The vents were much narrower than they first appeared to be, which made trying to crawl through them with a gun in one had increasingly difficult as I made my way to my targets. My task became even more challenging when I had to get to the uppermost floor where the bedroom was, meaning I had to press my hands against the metal sides and push myself up, being _extremely careful_ not to fall and break anything and/or ruin the chances of us completing the mission. The rules of the A.H.A kept flashing through my mind as I thought, putting constant pressure on me not to fail. It was like school all over again.

After a while of stressing, crawling, and getting far too much dust in my lungs, I finally ended up at the vent in the bedroom. I knew for certain that this was it because I could hear the tv blaring even louder than before, so much so that you wouldn't even be able to hear the sound of me bashing a medium-sized hole into the side of the vent and shuffling into position.

Suddenly, Arthur burst into the bedroom with his knife still hidden behind his back, making the husband and wife jump up in terror, tv still on. He kicked the door shut with a loud _bang,_ slowly stalking towards the couple, who were backing off in return. The wife was cowering a bit behind the husband's back, whilst he was standing firmly-yet his face was laced with dread. Arthur started to talk to them in a low and menacing voice, though loud enough for them to hear him, making direct eye contact with each of them in turn. His eyes were not glistening and friendly like they were before, no, they were sharp and dark, hazy with bloodlust.

I quietly cocked the gun and waited for the wife to distance herself a bit more, planning in my head how the next few minutes would play out. The idea I had on the train was about to be put into action, and I was excited. I supposed I would wait a few seconds after taking out the other assassin to shoot the husband because I thought it would be fun to see the look of utter despair on his face, that is, before he shares the same fate.

Still, I thought it a great shame that I would have to kill Arthur. He was at such a young age and had so much potential for life; he was skilled, crafty, and intelligent, not to mention that he was a quite a nice person and I was sure we could've built the relationship between us over time. I was pretty sure that he at least enjoyed my company as a friend a little bit; he did seem the type to tackle new people head-on and give them a chance, despite his wariness of them. Oh well, you win some you lose some.

I altered my stance as I took aim at the wife, who was nervously fumbling with her wavy black hair. Positioning my gun so the bullet would hit her temple, I took a calming, deep breath and, without another moment's hesitation, fired. I heard a cut off scream as I aimed through the smoke at Arthur, before shooting in his direction too. I saw splatters of blood fly through the air and coat the bedsheets and various other objects, tensing myself and waiting for the smoke to clear so I could see my result.

When it eventually did, I realised that I had failed. Well, sort of.

The wife was on the floor, motionless, her bright blue eyes still open and a burst of scarlet near her head, splattering her white dress, looking a bit like tiny roses. Meanwhile, her husband was laying just inches away from her, almost completely decapitated, with blood flowing like a river from the massive gash on his neck, which stained his clothes, face and eyes. Then I looked down at Arthur… Who was somehow still alive.

He was cleaning his butterfly knife on the creamy curtains near the window and, though he seemed fine, he did not escape completely unscathed. There was a visible cut on the back of his head from my bullet from which blood was coming, which was starting to get on his hair. I realised that, though he is my target, now was the time to patch him up and fabricate some story about why I shot him in the first place. I had to remember that, as nice as he was to me, as much as he wanted me to be a good friend who he could trust and confide in, he was my target and I _could not by any means_ get attached to him.

I kicked the hole in even more so it was large enough for me to jump from, landing on the bed with an audible _thud,_ as well as the unmistakable sound of wood breaking underneath me. Whoops.

Walking over to Arthur, I placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, which made him flinch before he turned around to look at me. Thankfully, the bloodlust had disappeared from his eyes and they were back to the sparkling green they were earlier. He shrugged my hand away and pointed moodily at the cut on his head.

"Care to explain to me why this is here?" he demanded, "Last time I checked, you were not supposed to aim at me!"

I honestly did want to tell him that, in reality, I was meant to shoot and kill him, but I kept that thought at the very back of my mind.

"I'm sorry!" I apologised profusely, aware that he was awaiting an explanation, "I panicked and misfired! I'm really, really sorry!"

This would also be the second time that day I had lied to somebody to save my bacon, but I really had no other choice. I had to carry out this mission, and I decided that a believable apology would be a good way to re-start.

Arthur put his hand to back of his head to try to lessen the blood flow, and his face displayed a mixture of understanding and well-hidden irritation. "I guess I understand. Our job is stressful, but still, if you are the best they have, you really should have learnt to keep your nerves under control!" he scolded me in a half playful/ half angry manner, waggling his finger disapprovingly, "We all make mistakes, so don't stress it. Just try not to do it again and move on."

"Sorry." I sheepishly said again, "Let's get out of here! I have a few things in my briefcase outside which will get you fixed up!"

We ambled through the house and towards the rose bush where our cases where, before we opened them and placed our weapons inside. I got out a few medical supplies I had with me and got to work sorting out Arthur's wound, first cleaning it with some saline, then mopping up any excess blood and covering it over with some clear surgical tape, which meant that you wouldn't even be able to tell a cut had been there in the first place.

"All done!" I exclaimed proudly, putting the supplies I didn't use back into my case, which I then picked up in my right hand.

"Cheers." Arthur replied with a smile, taking his own case from the bush and making his way down the drive.

By the time we were back on the train, it was already dark outside and you could see the shining stars and moon through the big windows. There were a lot more people than there had been earlier, so Arthur and I claimed a pair of seats next to each other to the left of the aisle (and I got to sit next to the window!). This time, we talked almost the entire time, and I will admit that I really enjoyed doing so! Despite the fact that my job is to kill, I adore meeting new people and chatting to them about anything under the sun. It makes me feel so much closer to them, even if they are just strangers. The same lady as before was trundling along with a loaded trolley of goodies, and Arthur decided to be a gentleman and buy me a coke, getting some tea for himself.

After getting off the train, the pair of us wandered through the dark streets to the apartment we would be sharing. It was on the top floor of the tower block and provided an absolutely stunning view of the sleeping city below. The only problem with it was how many flights of stairs we had to climb because the lift was out of commission, but the smooth, cushy feel of the bedsheets made it worth it. One the walls of the room was completely made of glass, so for a while we just stared out of it before getting into our pyjamas in the en-suite bathroom.

The bedroom was even bigger than I had expected, but I certainly wasn't going to argue about it. There were two lovely beds, separated by a light, wooden bedside table. The décor was rather nice as well, giving the apartment a much more modern feel than the stuffy mansion we had been in earlier in the afternoon. Despite all of this, our favourite feature was still the massive window, though.

Arthur flicked the light off and I brushed the curtains closed, before we both got into our beds and I snuggled down underneath the duvet. My mind had calmed down significantly thanks to the happy chat we had on the train, so I found it easy to slip into a slumber. Taking off my glasses and closing my eyes, I mumbled a quiet, "Goodnight, Arthur."

"Goodnight, Alfred. Sleep tight."

 **Thank you for reading, I hope that you enjoyed it! Please do drop me a review telling me how I did as constructive criticism is always appreciated and I love to know how I can improve! See you next chapter!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Sorry that this is so late; I have been so unbelievably busy recently as a result of Halloween, homework, Mozfest, and a bunch of other time-consuming things, but I will try my hardest to keep with my update schedule from now on! Thank you once again to all the lovely people who have supported this story so far! I hope that you enjoy this chapter!**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.**

I awoke the next morning to a thin beam of light hitting my face through a narrow gap in the curtains, making me squint and turn over with a stifled groan. I wriggled under the covers a little, trying desperately to preserve the little feeling of sleepiness that I still had left, though my efforts were futile as I found myself sitting up in bed amongst the criminally comfortable sheets and stretching my arms up over my head with a long yawn. Lazily reaching around the bedside table for my glasses and putting them on, I practically flopped out of bed and ambled over to the curtains, pulling them open so that I could look out over the city.

It was really quite a remarkable sight first thing on a Saturday morning. The glistening rays of the sun were a peachy shade, slowly seeping over the tops of buildings like treacle, casting them in a god-like aura. Little flecks of colour dusted the sidewalks, roads, and pavements, scurrying around into coffee shops and boutiques. I could see the A.H.A building from the window, looking ever-foreboding like usual, yet still coated in the pastel rays like a blank canvas waiting to be painted.

Looking down to my wrist, I briefly glanced at my watch (which I had forgotten to take off last night before going to bed) and ran my left hand through my soft, unkempt hair, playing with the lock that always refused to stay down, but instead stuck up and bounced like a spring. On my watch, the time read 8:07, which was a surprisingly late start for me as I usually would have gotten myself a coffee and be at work by now. Not that I was complaining, though, I mean, it had been a _really long time_ since I last had a lie-in.

I turned away from the window and begun making my way towards the kitchen to get myself a drink when I remembered and looked up at Arthur, who was still fast asleep in his bed, his perpetually bed-headed hair spread out messily on the pearl-white pillow. Next to his head, on the bedside table, sat a stack of Sherlock Holmes books, one of which with a fancy-looking bookmark sticking out of it. He must have spent all damn night reading them- what the hell possessed him to do that? That was probably why his phone was completely dead.

Either way, the first thought that sprung to my mind was, _"Aw, he looks really adorable.",_ and I found myself smiling,to which I immediately asked myself aloud why I would ever think or do such a thing. I decided to try and rid these forbidden thoughts from my head by strolling back to the kitchen to go make a coffee. I momentarily considered pulling my gun from my briefcase and delivering Arthur a quick couple of shots to the head to end my mission here, but then I remembered what my boss had said yesterday about the cameras and any suspicious activity. Preferring not to end up in jail, I decided to let him be for now.

In the kitchen, my first thoughts upon seeing Arthur that morning kept running through my head as I was making my coffee. _"You've known the guy for one day, Alfred!"_ I told myself mentally, aggressively fumbling with my pyjama's sleeve, _"One day! And besides, you can't get attached to him or be even remotely close in any way, though he is a really nice person and perhaps you could become friends over time or…"_

I paused my train of thought and brought my hands down tersely on the kitchen counter, "No no no, what am I thinking? I'm not even allowed to..."

" _It's perfectly normal to think something is cute without being attached to it, right?"_ My internal monologue started to take over again as I desperately tried to salvage the coffee I had been making, _"Yeah, that's how it works! Goddammit, Alfred, why did you have to choose this line of work when you get attached to people so easily? Wait! No, I do not like him in any way,"_ I started pressuring myself as if I were two people locked in an argument for eternity, _"He is my enemy. I must kill him. It's your job, so stop beating around the bush and get the hell on with it! Arthur Kirkland must die by my hand."_

After a while of beating myself up over a little compulsive thought, I somehow manged to produce a somewhat edible cup of coffee and ambled back into the bedroom and, to my surprise, my target (who had just caused me an awful lot of inner turmoil) was casually sitting on his bed, fully dressed in casual attire not too different from what he was wearing yesterday, reading the Sherlock book which had the bookmark in it earlier. He greeted me with a nod of acknowledgement and a quick, "Good morning, Alfred. How did you sleep?"

"Mmm, great, dude. What about you?" I replied absentmindedly, plopping myself down next to the window and sipping my drink whilst leaning against the smooth curtains. Arthur put his book down and bought over his laptop with the mission screen from yesterday open.

"Fine, thank you." He peered over the top of the laptop, "Is that coffee?"

"Yeah. You want some?"

"I'm certainly more of a tea person myself."

"Would you like me to make you any?"

"No, I'm alright for now. I can just get some in the meal hall downstairs, anyway, but thank you for the offer."

Due to the fact that I couldn't make a cup of tea to save my life, I was incredibly glad that he had turned me down. I inclined my head slightly to the side so I could breathe a sigh of relief before taking another long sip of my coffee, gazing out of the window. The pair of us were then suddenly startled beyond description when my phone started playing my ringtone at full volume, which caused me to abandon my coffee and sprit across the room to check the caller ID. It was my boss.

"Mind if I take this?" I called across the room to Arthur, who nodded and waved his hand dissmissivley; my que to escape into the bathroom, and lock the door for good measure, so he couldn't hear my potentially dangerous conversation. Reluctantly, I answered the call.

"Hello, Jones." The boss's ever-icy voice crept into my ears and made me shiver as I leant against the sink, "Have you carried out the main objective yet?"

"No, sir, I haven't," I replied quietly. I could practically _feel_ his eerie presence behind me, making me freeze up and tense, preparing for the likely torrent of passive-aggressive hatred which would then follow his disappointed sigh.

"I see…" he mumbled with a growl, "Have you even tried? You're supposed to be my best assassin, so why can you not even complete your mission swiftly?"

I felt my chest tense up as I gulped, "I have tried, sir, but he's so damn quick-only ended up with a nasty cut on the back of his head."

"Right. Well, it seems you're growing idle, Jones. I have more important matters to attend to, so I'll leave you with your target. Carry out your mission without fail and don't contact me until it's done. Don't break the rules." The boss paused, and I could picture his slits of eyes narrowing and his crushing hands tapping on the desk, "After all, I'm fairly sure you value your life."

With that, he hung up the call, allowing me to catch my breath for a second and contemplate the situation. Firstly, I was having a conversation with my superior over the phone at the crack of dawn in my pyjamas, but secondly, if there was one thing my boss knew how to do, it was definitely how to manipulate people with his life-dependant rules and menacing glares. Though I didn't get anywhere near as stressed around him as the other employees would, I can't say that I felt comfortable in his presence.

Unlocking the door and walking briskly back into the bedroom, I saw Arthur now sat with a cup of tea still by the window, his briefcase lying open, displaying a vast assortment of knives and blades. In all honesty, I was more than a little surprised at his efficiency (something I would have to get used to) so, sneakily, I grabbed my clothes and ran back into the bathroom to get washed and dressed, thundering back into the bedroom about fifteen minutes later and kicking my briefcase out from under my bed, which then skidded across the room and hit the other man directly in the back.

Arthur turned around as the case hit him and scowled at me, mumbling "You bloody git…" under his breath, closing his laptop and concealing it with the curtain. I giggled, opening my briefcase and reaching up to ruffle his hair, but paused my motion once I realised that it may come across as _"too friendly"_ to my boss, whose cameras were watching the apartment.

"So…" I began, getting his attention, "Got a new mission already?"

"Yes, actually, I do." He answered, not meeting my gaze but instead studying his weapons of choice for today, which were ten black throwing knives in a leather quiver that looked like a wallet or purse of some description. "Our target being in this building as we speak."

"Really?" I was confused, but glad we wouldn't have to go on a stuffy train again like yesterday, "Is it someone who works here?"

"No, they're guests. A family who goes by the Vos name. There's three of them in total: Mr Vos, Mrs Vos, and their daughter, Yara. The parents are in their mid to late forties, and their daughter is around twenty-five."

"Ok." I nodded, glancing at my briefcase quickly, "Have they done anything?"

"Indeed. They sell and keep animals illegally, primarily foxes, and, according to various other sources, their daughter likes to act disgustingly cruelly towards them. Many animals have died under their so-called 'care' and even more are being sold to even worse places. One of their consumers has contacted us, since they only buy them to set them free, and want them killed. Does that make sense?"

That seemed a little extreme to me, but who was I to judge? I mean, my own company killed people who didn't even do anything except not see eye-to-eye with a particular person, the client generally being someone wealthy with too many grudges to count. We took requests from anyone, but Arthur's company only took requests to kill people who were legitimately _bad._ Interesting.

"Yep!" I said peppily, "Got a plan?"

"Yes, but it's not completely fool-proof." He admitted, "But I do have information. At around 9:30, they have plans to go out shopping o-"

"How do you know that?"

"I have a colleague who is working undercover here and provides information about potential targets."

"Oh."

He put his throwing knives aside, closing the leather quiver, "As I was saying, they have plans to go out very soon, so that will give us the perfect opportunity. Do you have a sniper rifle?"

I got it out and presented the gun to him, already loaded, "Of course I do!" I laughed, "I'm pretty good with it as well!"

"Excellent. My plan was that we get onto the roof of this building, and take them out when they step outside. I'll throw a few of my knives in their tracks and, because they'll hopefully stop to examine them, you'll be able to snipe them. We can't be seen, so you can just poke the gun over the edge of the rooftop. I'm hoping they won't see us because this place is so tall, though."

"And if they don't stop?"

"We'll try again, obviously." He said it as if I were stupid with a grin on his face, "Have you spotted any way to get up to the roof?"

"I have!" I cried joyously, "Last night, I saw a storage cupboard with a ladder on one of its walls which looked like it lead to the roof. A guy came back down from it as we walked past. But how are we gonna sneak guns and knives along the corridor full of security guards?"

Arthur smiled and started texting somebody at an incredible speed on his phone. "The colleague who's also here will be helping us. I just contacted him so he'll be here in a minute."

"Can I trust him?"

"With this mission, certainly. He may not look it, but he's a trained bodyguard and always keeps a gun on him, as well as an assassin just like us. I've known him for a while and, though he's a bloody pain in the arse half the time, I can't deny that he's a good fighter who knows what he's doing. We'll be just fine."

I closed my briefcase and slid it next to Arthur's, standing up with my rifle in my hand. I grabbed the Englishman's backpack and shoved my gun inside of it, though it was quite a tight squeeze, whilst he attached his quiver to the water bottle compartment. Putting the bag on my back, I asked, "Is there anything else I need to know about this guy?"

Arthur shrugged nonchalantly, "Not really. I mean, he's French, and his voice can be distinguished from a mile off, but I'll know him when I see him anyway."

" _Hmm… French?"_ I thought to myself. I used to know a Frenchman who ran a bakery in my town. I played with his son a lot when we were kids, but they moved away up north and I never really heard from him again. He was almost a year older than me, and somehow was still in my class at school, but he wasn't stupid. I remember him being flirtatious and cheeky, with a trademark laugh which would tell you exactly what sort of thing was going on. A part of me really missed him when he left; my twelve-year-old mind couldn't and wouldn't contemplate why somebody would just up and leave like that.

I was startled out of my thoughts by a knock on the door, which Arthur went to answer. He spoke to whoever was there for a few seconds before the pair of them turned to face me.

"Alfred," Arthur called, "I would like you to meet my co-worker, Francis."

He gestured towards the stranger, who stepped out from behind Arthur's back to look at me, catching my eye and smirking. This had to be the French boy I used to be friends with. There was no doubt about it: the resemblance was uncanny.

Bright sapphire eyes like mine, only darker, paired with glossy blond hair that went down to just below his chin, which had a small stubble. A thin silver chain hung round his neck, and he wore deep blue jeans with a white dress shirt which had the first few buttons undone. He had long and thin fingers with a red rose held between two of them, which was what really convinced me that Francis really was the boy I knew back then. I remember that he always would have at least one flower with him, no matter the occasion.

It seems that he must have caught me staring at him because I heard that trademark laugh I would hear all those years ago, followed by a cheeky, "You like what you see?"

My words got caught in my throat for a little while before I manged to splutter out a, "Ugh… Are you the French boy who lived at 12 Pueritia Lane and moved up north when he was twelve and knew a boy called Alfred F Jones?"

Francis looked thoughtful for a moment before his face lit up with realisation and he ran up to hug me. "I thought I recognised you Alfred! How have you been? It's been a while!"

I grinned, "Great, thanks! You haven't changed one bit!"

He laughed again, running a hand through his hair, "Neither have you, mon cher! Well, other than the glasses. When did you get them?"

"After you left, actually. They're also pretty convenient for my job, too!"

"They look great on you!" he turned to Arthur, tying up his long hair into a ponytail with a red ribbon he pulled from his pocket, "So, shall we get started? We have ten minutes until they're in position."

The Englishman shrugged, "Might as well. I'd rather be early than late. You got your gun?"

"Oui." he tapped the pocket on his jean which was hidden by his dress shirt, "Now let's go. I'm meeting up with some people at 9:45 and I don't want to be late!"

Arthur rolled his eyes and pulled the door open, allowing Francis and I to stroll through, before he closed and locked it behind him. The Frenchman took his place in front of my target and I, his hand hovering over the gun in his pocket. No longer was he the laid back, flamboyant man I was talking to mere moments ago. He now had the aura about him that told me that this was an assassin that meant business-which was the only type of mood I could read.

We walked casually along the corridor as if we were just going to get breakfast, thankfully earning no odd looks as a result. The tricky part would be getting into the storage cupboard at the end without being arrested/ kicked out of the hotel by any of the security guards present, and I noticed that Francis had slowed down his pace considerably as we got closer to it, as if he were trying to think about how he should carry this mission out.

Reaching the end of the corridor, we loitered around the door for a bit, looking more than a little bit suspicious at this point. I started panicking when a guard came up to us, hands on her hips and short brown hair bobbing up and down as she strode over. "What do you think you're doing?"

Without a moment of hesitation, Francis handed something to Arthur before he began talking to the guard, slowly directing her attention to him leading her away from us and down the stairs. I looked behind me at my main target, who was stealthily picking the lock on the cupboard with the hairpin that his co-worker had given him. Once he had done so, he pulled me in and closed the door behind us, zipping up the ladder with me following closely behind. He reached down and grabbed his throwing knives from the bag and used one of them to open the ceiling's trapdoor, pushing it open and using his arms to pull himself up onto the windy rooftop.

After we had both gotten up, I used a spare book from the backpack to leave the door on the latch before I pulled out my sniper rifle. Thankfully, the roof was flat with a tall ridge wall round the edge of it, so neither of us had to worry about slipping off and falling onto the streets below us. I really hoped that Francis was still keeping the guards busy.

We shuffled up to the edge, putting our weapons down just behind us and peeking over the ridge so we could see the people on the pavement.

"What's the time, Alfred?"

"9:29"

"Perfect. Right on time. They shouldn't be too difficult to spot, by the way; they look like walking carnival floats."

I nodded in response, turning my attention back to the people down below and adjusting my glasses, putting my eye behind the gunsight. I heard the sharpening of knives next to me, sending shivers up my spine as I waited for Arthur's signal to go. My hand was shaking on the trigger from my nerves.

As we sat in a motionless silence, I kept thinking about if I could kill him today. On this mission, I had no chance whatsoever. I had already screwed up a bit the day before so Arthur was probably already very wary of my actions. Glancing away from my gunsight, I eyed the cut on the back of his head, which was being concealed by his hair, reminding myself of my previous actions. Why I somewhat felt bad afterwards was still a mystery to me.

Another five minutes passed until finally an elaborately dressed family of three stepped out of the hotel, taking up nearly the entire sidewalk as they flounced side by side.

"Is that them?" I whispered, ducking my head below the ridge.

"Yes. Now, commence in three… Two… One!"

He stood up for less than a second and flung two throwing knives down, making them fly through the air, sideways and silent. One of them landed in the path in front of the Vos family, making them pause just as planned. The other hit the mother square in the temple, striking her down and causing a bloody mess.

This was bad. Yes, one of our targets was dead, but the other two were running around and panicking, making it more difficult for me to get a perfect shot. The daughter was running away from the corpse and down the street, so I positioned my gun so I could take her out whilst she was running. I fired a couple of shots at her, listened to her horrifically high-pitched squeals, then glanced down to see her lying on the floor in her own blood.

I turned my gun so that I could take out the man, but found that he was lying near his wife with a knife through his skull. _"Dammit!_ " I thought angrily, _"Arthur stole my kill!"_

Despite the fact that I was now mildly annoyed, I still worked with my main target and shoved my gun in the bag, taking the remaining knives and putting them in there too. Arthur put his foot in the gap where the book held the trapdoor open and kicked it, holding up the lid and giving me just enough time to leap through before he quickly shut it without a sound.

We waited for a while in the storage room behind the door, listening intently to the intense footsteps thundering along outside. After it died down, I opened to the door slightly, checking the coast for any threats, but saw none. Getting out and closing the door again, we almost sprinted back down the corridor and to our apartment, unlocking the door and running inside, Arthur locking it behind me before we went to the bedroom.

Not daring to look out the window, I simply lied on my bed and got my breath back, my hand resting on my chest. "Do you think Francis is ok? Are they gonna catch us?"

Arthur sighed, taking a seat on his bed and picking up one of his numerous books, "Aeternam is with the government, so we'll be fine. We only take missions regarding people who are genuinely posing a threat and the higher ups have asked us to deal with. As for the frog… He's probably negotiating and flirting with the guards and police so that he can get my knives back and explain everything. I have to hand it to him, he has a way with words and knows exactly how to manipulate people to (quite literally) get away with murder."

"The frog?"

"It's a nickname. Long story."

"Alrighty!" I said happily, grinning.

Although I was not aware of it at the time, the effect this green-eyed Englishman was having on my heart was growing by the second. It wouldn't matter how many times I would go over the rules first thing in the morning, he'd always be in the front of my mind. I was so completely oblivious to my own feelings that I failed to notice what others did so easily.

In the not-too-distant future, I would tell myself that what had happened to me was a mistake. Human error. My mistake.

But I gotta tell you, it was the best damn mistake I ever made.

 **Thank you for reading and I hope that you enjoyed it! Please do tell me how I did as constructive criticism is always appreciated! See you next chapter!**


	4. Chapter 4

**I'm sorry for the late update again, but thank you so much for all the support (it really brightens my day so much!)! This chapter's going to be a bit longer than usual to make up for how many weeks I've made you wait (sorry, again…)! I hope you enjoy this chapter!**

 **Disclaimer: Hetalia is not mine.**

We sat like that for a while in silence, the only distinguishable noise being the sound of thin pages turning and my own deep breaths. I glanced over at Arthur admittedly more than a few times, but he seemed completely uninterested in starting a conversation, instead choosing to bury his head in the written words on the paper and imagine worlds of fantasy and dreams in his mind. He seemed willing to talk earlier, so why wouldn't he now? It was almost as if he had only just taken in the situation: living with a rival assassin you know next to nothing about who has capabilities you aren't even aware of can be pretty daunting. I can say that I felt what I thought he was contemplating.

Strangely, I noticed, whilst lying on my bed and staring blankly at the ceiling, that the odd fluttery feeling in my chest that I had being experiencing only hours earlier had disappeared, to the point where I couldn't even remember what it made me feel like. I felt devoid of emotion at this time, as if I were an empty husk, but at the same time, I felt more alive than ever before. I reckoned that the feeling had been just mere excitement from my new mission, and thus decided to leave it at that.

Though part of my job is to not have sympathy or guilt for your actions, some colleagues of mine envied that fact that I was constantly, so honestly, chipper. They asked me how I do it, but that's just the way I am! I'm optimistic, I've been told, perhaps a little too much sometimes.

I don't know how much time passed, but at some point, I got bored of watching paint that had already dried, so I rolled over to get my phone and logged into the Wi-Fi, spending the time playing games and going on the internet. My tummy started to rumble at around twelve, but I was feeling far too lazy to actually get up and find myself some food, so I continued to scroll up and down on my phone. I desperately hoped that something, _anything_ , interesting would happen. Another mission was wishful thinking, but a boy can dream, right?

Thankfully, all my prayers were answered when my head snapped up upon hearing an obnoxious knock on the door. Throwing my phone down on the bed, I leapt up with a quick, "I'll get it!". Flinging the door open enthusiastically, I was met with a very bored-looking Francis, who was twiddling a different rose from earlier between his fingers. He smiled at me lightly, stepping inside. I noticed that his hair was more dishevelled than it had been earlier, but I let it be.

Arthur hadn't even noticed the others blonde's return until Francis plopped himself down onto the edge of the Englishman's bed, startling him just enough so that he put down his book and carefully slotted the bookmark inside of it. "Took you long enough." He grunted, narrowing his eyes and moving his legs so I too could sit on the (now rather cramped) bed.

Francis ran his hand through his golden locks and sighed, "They wouldn't listen to me! Took me long enough to get that damn guard to stop being so cautious of me! I had to cancel my meeting with some people at 9:45!" he pouted childishly, just as he would when he was younger, "At least I got the job done."

He took his phone from his back pocket and typed something on it with one hand, his delicate fingers _tap-tapping_ away at the clear screen, before he placed it down on the bed so that we could see it. I saw Arthur stare at the device curiously, scanning it with his eyes and then turning his attention back to Francis, who now had a smirk on his face.

"I know that we've already done a mission today." He crooned, tilting his head slightly, eyes full of rascality, "But the day's still young. What about another one I picked out especially? What do you say?"

I grabbed the phone in front of me speedily so that Arthur couldn't get it first, earning a quiet protest from him -which I chose to ignore- and started reading the words on the screen. The location was about a half-hour train journey away and there were thirty targets in total, all hiding out in some abandoned barn with low-hanging beams. According to the brief, the lot of them had been previously locked up in a prison somewhere, each for several different counts of murder amongst other things, and had, upon their escape, formed a gang of an unknown name. They now committed crimes that were just as bad as the ones they had been caged up for in the first place, as well as things like grand larceny, and perhaps even being part of a massive illegal drug ring.

Glancing down at the bottom of the screen, I noticed that the person who had called us up about this job was not specified, just leaving the word 'anon' where their name should be. I found that rather odd, but didn't question it aloud, instead handing the phone to Arthur and leaving the bed to grab our briefcases so that we could both choose our weapons.

When I got back, Francis was handing the used throwing knives from our previous mission to his colleague, who muttered a quiet " _Thank you…_ " under his breath. He put them stealthily in the drawer below his bedside table next to a grey cloth and a charger.

I handed him the briefcase and opened mine when I sat on the bed, immediately taking out my Desert Eagle and running my fingers along the smooth silver barrel and the grips which had the pattern of the American flag on them, dented and slightly scratched with use. My eyes rose a little to look at Arthur, who was lifting a 45cm machete with a sheath covering its blade out of his case. The handle had an intricate picture carved into it, as if it were an ancient relic from centuries long forgotten.

Flicking the clips shut on my briefcase which I had just closed, I noticed that Francis was without a weapon, awkwardly twiddling his thumbs whilst Arthur and I sorted out ours. I nudged his shoulder slightly and he made eye-contact with me again, "Do you want to borrow one of my guns?" I asked him, twirling mine around my finger a tad obnoxiously and nearly accidentally launching it across the room.

Francis, a little shaken from nearly having a metal object hit his face, shook his head and tapped his front jean pocket, "No, mon ami, I have my own! Merci for the offer though!"

"What gun is it?" I asked, leaning closer to him and adjusting my glasses.

"Nothing fancy." He admitted, pulling on its handle to release it from the pocket and presenting it to me, "Just a Beretta M9."

"It's cool."

He smiled at me before shoving his gun in the backpack just below our feet, which Arthur and I then put our weapons in as well, before I picked it up and flung it over my shoulder. I grabbed the door key that was lying on the desk next to the bed and the other two followed suit, Francis getting anything else we may perhaps need on our mission like ropes and medical supplies. We left the apartment in a little huddle, Arthur in the middle of the Frenchman and I.

Once we got to the train station and received our tickets, the three of us sprinted unceremoniously to platform five once somebody informed us that we would be late if we didn't hurry up. Somehow, we managed to get a four-seater, leaping through the doors just as the cold wind started nipping my ears and making the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. For the majority of the journey, we simply chatted idly and formed a mission plan, writing it down on a piece of paper and noting it all on our phones.

Each of us would have ten targets to eliminate. We would sneak into the place somehow in silence and Arthur would climb up onto the low-hanging beams with his machete, whilst Francis would fire a few insignificant gunshots to the floor or ceiling to draw their attention from me as I would sneak into a position, which would allow me to take out my select targets without getting in the other's way.

There would be no chance of me killing Arthur on this mission, either. I knew that I would be far too focused on the gang targets to even have a shot of it, and besides, Francis was here too, and I had no idea what he was capable of.

On the train journey, I did notice something I thought a little strange about the Frenchman that I had not picked up before. Whenever Arthur was speaking, all his attention would be drawn to him, and his eyes had some weird glittery look in them which I didn't understand. I thought that something might be wrong with him, and I really was tempted to ask him what the look in his eyes was about, but I decided not to.

When we got off of the train, we walked for a very long time to a suspicious-looking field just behind the nearby village's cemetery. The grass was tall, coming up to my waist and tickling my hands as I waded awkwardly through it, the other two assassins following closely behind me. After a while, we came to a large patch covered with dried vegetation. In its centre was a very large barn house, sloppily painted with an ugly shade of magenta, looking as if it had just been dragged through a tornado. The walls were pealing and every inch of the exterior was caked in a thick layer of dirt; a huge metal door stood directly in front of us, swaying on its hinges and creaking sharply with a horrible scraping sound.

However, parked just outside the barn on its left side, sat a pair of McLaren 570Ss, looking as if they were brand-new. One of them was a striking orange whilst the other was jet black, the latter being closer to the door. Both of them had been started and were ready to go, the keys already in place.

Francis scampered in front of me upon noticing our location, before darting forward to the barn's right side (from where we were standing) and glancing at us with his back to the wall. I ran up to him and stood at his side, taking my backpack off and placing it on the ground with the zip undone. Arthur sprinted to our position and instantly grabbed his machete from the bag, yanking the sheath off with reckless abandon and discarding it back into the container. The blade itself was unsurprisingly pristine: a glistening silver which perfectly complemented the intricacy of the handle.

In turn, we each took our select weapons out of the bag in silence, also dropping anything from our pockets into it, such as phones and spare change. Fortunately, all the guns we had were already fully loaded.

We shuffled closer to the door, which inconveniently opened on the same side the cars where on, leaving the rucksack leaning against the wall, intending to pick it up again later.

"How are we going to get in?" Francis muttered to us, his gun held stiffly in his hand. All of our eyes were on the entrance, waiting in morbid anticipation for the exact moment when it would swing open ever so slightly and grant us access to the inside.

It felt as if we had been loitering for hours when we heard the unmistakeable creak of the metal hinges accompanied by many heavy footsteps. We drew back slightly and I felt Arthur tense up behind me as we saw a tall and lanky man emerge from the shadows, with a cigar hanging loosely between his lips, grey smoke floating from his mouth. His head turned towards us, and I held my breath out of fear that he might spot us, but then I saw that, messily concealed by his tousled brown locks, was an empty socket; there was just a red space where his left eye should've been.

He strolled a little further until he was standing at the edge of the dried grass patch, absentmindedly twirling the cigar between his fingers. Francis nudged me sharply and pointed towards the door, which must have been left on the latch by the gang member who was currently outside, signalling to me that this was our opportunity to get in.

"We go now." He murmured, creeping silently before me and slinking around the side of the door like a snake, "Good luck, everyone," Suddenly, he bolted directly to the left and into a darkened corner, Arthur and I sneaking into the one opposite it. I gave my secret target a thumb up and he nodded at me with a ghost of a smile, before turning away from me and looking up at the low hanging beams. Briefly glancing behind me, I noticed that the door was very slowly swinging open.

Tucking his machete behind his back, Arthur then seemingly effortlessly scaled the upright pillar next to me, latching onto any crevasses and bumps that were present, and was perching like a cat on the wooden beams above me in seconds. He then crept along them, wrapping his legs around the lower ones and using the momentum to swing up onto the beams that were placed higher up and closer to the centre of the barn where some sketchy looking action was taking place.

After picking my jaw back up from the floor as a result of seeing Arthur get into position, I turned my attention to the gang members. The brown haired one with the cigar was sauntering back to a big gathering in the middle where the rest of his companions were, threatening each other with their guns and smoking a dodgy-looking white powder which was in numerous piles around them. Strangely, there were blood stains dotted on the floor and the little furniture that was in this place, but that was nothing compared to the spread out red mass which was continuing to get larger in the furthest corner of the room. There were massive wooden crates there as well, also covered in the red liquid. It sent uneasy shivers down my spine and made a lump appear in my throat.

I shot another glance to Francis, who was now hiding behind a pillar close to the group. He caught my eye and nodded, signalling to me that the main event was about to begin. Without a second thought, he silently stepped out of the shadows, a menacing grin on his face. He aimed his gun towards the floor and fired a single gunshot, making every single gang member turn their heads to look at him. They instantly jumped to their feet in unison, growling and hissing, pointing their guns at him and yelling. Francis chuckled darkly, glaring at them with narrow eyes through his thick eyelashes, taking a few more steps closer and pointing his own gun at them in return.

"Bonjour." He smirked, his voice losing the upbeat tone it had this morning and replacing it with a merciless growl. "I'm so glad you're all here."

"Who the hell are you?" One of the gang members shouted in fury, loading his gun and snarling under his breath.

Francis dangerously took another couple of steps closer, gun still held in its place, "That's not important." Another step, "You don't need to know _anything_ about me."

That clearly riled up the gang again as they started yelling and screaming insults at him, whilst he just stood there, paying no heed to their petty words. I was honestly surprised they hadn't shot the Frenchman yet, nor that he had fired a single bullet either. Glancing across to look in his eyes, I saw that he was focused on the high beams and was subtly making gestures with his free hand. A few members of the gang were stepping closer to him, whilst some stayed behind and conveniently singled themselves out-very easy pickings for assassins like us. Francis then very slightly tilted his head back and nodded, a smirk dancing on his lips. He briefly shot a look towards me which told me everything I needed to know. I took a quick breath as I then waited in silence, my gun in position, waiting ever so impatiently for the unmistakeable sound of a blade slicing through flesh.

I didn't have to wait long. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Arthur swoop down from the beams like a raven, bringing his right arm back and swinging it at the furthest back gang member's neck, slicing their head clean off and sending it toppling to the floor. Blood flew from the wound, splattering his clothes and blade as he surged on forward, doing the same vicious action to two more of the gang members. He caught one of their heads in his hands and carelessly tossed it behind him, as if he were a child who had just gotten bored of the toy he had been playing with.

Now all the entirety of the gang had understood what was going on as I swung round from my hiding place, firing a single bullet each directly between the eyes of three of my targets, sending them crumbling like pastry to the floor, lifeless. I heard four more piercing gunshots that must have been from Francis straight after I too had fired, four more blood-curdling screams and four more targets down.

The gang members who were still somehow alive were now erratically shooting at Arthur, Francis, and I, charging at us with hatred-filled eyes. One of them was specifically aiming for me, metal pellets whizzing past my ears as the enraged running steps grew closer, her high-pitched voice screaming undecipherable insults. She made a lunge for me with a pocket-knife, but I was far too quick for her. I yanked sharply on her long auburn hair, bringing her head down and giving me the opportunity to shoot her on the back of her neck. Bursts of red spewed from the fresh wound as she crumpled to the floor below me.

I fired even more shots into the violent crowd and received three more screams in return, as well as the sounds of soulless beings tumbling to the floor, their bones shattered as their bodies got trampled on by their companions. My eyes caught a glimpse of Arthur as I took a moment to get some of my breath back and I was mystified. There was a pile of four scattered around him, all either completely decapitated or with the most horrific of injuries laced around their neck, rivers and rivers of blood pouring endlessly from them.

Arthur himself was locked in combat with a pair of gang members for only a mere second before he seized one of their necks and squeezed it in a tight grip, plunging his machete into the man's stomach so that it was sticking out the other side, pulling it roughly up with incredible speed until it had carved a straight line along his body and his distinguishable features were nothing more than a bloodied mess. He somehow did all of this whilst the other gang member was firing hasty and unpredictable bullets at him, dodging them by mockingly, yet gracefully, twisting around them, before finally diving for him, slicing his head off and making it fly across the barn.

The sound of Francis's gunshots rang out like bells in the background the whole time; I counted up three more kills for him in my head before I leapt back in the skirmish to get back into the action. I aimed with a sideways hand, releasing a couple more bullets from their metal prison and watching as they eliminated more of my targets.

Slowly, I let my hand fall by my side again as I looked at the massacre's aftermath, checking to see if there were any gang members still alive. Arthur strode warily towards me with his machete still raised, as if somebody (for example: me) were to shoot him. His eyes narrowed as he approached me and he kept his head lowered. Francis was finishing off a pair of his targets with a merciless round of bullets on their already-fallen corpses, before he looked up at me and said quietly, "I think that's all of them."

"Are you sure?" Arthur questioned slyly, striding a few steps closer to me, "How many did you get? There could be some still alive."

"Well how many did you get" I asked, tensing upon hearing a rustling from the back which only I picked up on, "I took out nine, I think…"

"Same for me." Francis shook his head and gripped his gun tighter in his hand, making his knuckles go white. It was as if he was preparing himself for an ambush of some description.

"I did as well." The Englishman muttered in disbelief, putting his free hand to his chin and tensing. The atmosphere had darkened drastically in the past few seconds, and I didn't like it at all. I had the feeling that something was about to go horrifically wrong, but I couldn't quite put my finger on what. We began making our way out of the bloodstained barn, our backs to the now open door and our eyes constantly scanning the area for potential threat. Though I couldn't see anybody other than my fellow assassins, I knew that something wasn't right.

Suddenly, a bullet came whizzing past my head and the sound of loud footsteps erupted from the back of the barn. There stood three more gang members, the ones we hadn't got, with guns in their hands and eyes disgustedly staring at the bodies of their friends. They abruptly started running for us, firing bullets as they did so in our direction, making us immediately back away and begin running in the opposite direction.

"Get to the car!" Arthur yelled, pointing to the black McLaren 570S with his red-stained machete, "I will go around this side to grab the bag, then I'll jump in with you! Hurry up!"

Without another thought, he darted to his left as Francis and I harshly pulled the nearest car's door wide open and flung ourselves inside of it, me taking the wheel. The gang members almost instantly came sprinting out of the barn after us and one of them ran around to her left in pursuit of Arthur, whilst the other two continued to fire bullets at the car I was in as they started getting in to the other one.

"Drive, Alfred! Drive!" Francis shouted frantically as I slammed my foot down on the pedal, reversed slightly, and sped away as fast as the car would dare go, with my enemies closely behind me. Luckily, we were in a very, very large field, so there was plenty of space for a vehicular confrontation. Dust bellowed up behind us as the tires screeched, bullets denting the shiny metal and creating ear-piecing shrieks. Francis quickly slammed his gun and elbow against the window, making it shatter and create a massive hole, which he then leant out of and started shooting at the car behind us, ducking his head back in every few second to avoid gunfire.

I whipped the car back around and started speeding to the barn, forcing our pursuers to make an immediate U turn in their attempts to get us. In the distance, I spotted Arthur standing over the female gang member's corpse behind the building, the backpack held in his left hand and his weapon in his right. He must have seen us because he began racing towards the car as I drove closer, throwing the bag onto his back and stabbing his machete through it to free his hands.

For a moment, I thought that I might run over him, which would mean that my main mission would be completed. Then again, I knew that Francis would execute me at once (since I was not armed) for murdering him, so I decided that now was not the right time. The Frenchman briefly leant over to my side and smashed in the other window, sending even more shards of glass flying into my face and cutting it, making my cheeks sting painfully. I took a gander at him for a second and saw that he too was in a similar predicament to me: cuts on his face and the nasty red liquid trailing down it, but he did not complain. Instead, he told me to get closer to Arthur as quickly as possible, which did confuse me a bit. The car only had two seats, so I had no idea how he would join Francis and me.

Once the Englishman was finally only metres away from us, he took a long run up and surged onto the top of the car, wrapping his fingers aggressively round the edges of the broken window to keep stable, digging into the attached fragments and making them bleed. He passed the backpack through the gap to Francis in haste, who then reloaded his gun and handed it to him, taking mine from the floor in its place.

I saw Arthur's hands disappear from my window's edge, followed by the sounds of booming gunshots aimed at the car behind us, which was shooting at us in return. Steering the car round and around in circles, I focused briefly on an outburst of blood flying through a now partly shattered windscreen on the driver's side of the other vehicle, noticing the bloody holes now ingrained in one of the gang member's skull as they went limp and fell to the side. There now was only one criminal target remaining, who had now desperately jumped over to the driver's seat and began controlling the car, having to sit directly on top of his friend's corpse.

The orange car now sped towards us at full speed, the man inside it screaming in rage and inconsolable sadness, as I continued to drive in circles. It was getting closer and closer to us, and somehow picking up speed every second its wheels were furiously turning. I was then facing the driver through my dented windscreen, no longer moving the vehicle, but merely taunting him from the inside. I suddenly felt Francis roughly grab my collar and the rucksack, pulling us both out of the car before with harsh vigour before, all of a sudden, the two machines collided.

Spine-tingling sounds of metal smashing entered my conscience as I scampered back from the destruction, the cars bellowing smoke and spinning violently, knocking Arthur from his perch and sending him flying above my head, landing with a sickening _thump_ on the hard ground just behind me. Francis immediately turned around to see if his friend was alright, breathing a highly audible sigh of relief when the Englishman stood up and dusted himself off, almost as if he hadn't just survived potential disaster.

I looked at the wreckage before me, where an imminent spark was beginning to form, and saw that our final criminal target had been eliminated. His limp body had smashed through both windscreens and I saw that his neck was twisted at a disgusting angle, his head facing upwards and glaring with glassy eyes.

Francis and I stood up next to Arthur, putting our weapons in the rucksack and retrieving the few medical supplies we had to sort out the minor wounds we had all suffered from the barn and car chase. Honestly, I was lucky to be alive. If it weren't for a certain Frenchman, I would probably be dead.

"Hey, Francis." I began shyly, suddenly finding the floor very fascinating, "Umm… Thanks for the save back there, dude. I'd be dead if it wasn't for you!"

The long-haired man chuckled quietly, making casual eye-contact with me. "Not a problem, mon ami. Don't mention it."

It was only then when I noticed how dark the sky was beginning to get. I was starting to see the velvety blue backdrop being laced with glittery stars and casting a gentle glow which accompanied the sunset.

"Do you think we should start heading off now?" Arthur asked, reading my thoughts, "It is rather late, and there is no doubt that the train will be delayed to some degree."

"Oui." Francis agreed, taking the lead and making his way to the place from whence we came, "I would like to get back to my apartment."

Briskly, the three of us started walking back across the field and to the cemetery, which, in turn, would take us along a lengthy and winding path to the train station. We were all a little bit tired after our intense mission, so it did take some time longer to get back than it did to arrive, but we contentedly talked in a nonchalant manner the whole time to keep ourselves occupied whilst the rest of the world slept in silence.

By the time we got to the train, the sky was dark and as mysterious as the dark side of the moon, clumps of clouds overtaking parts of it here and there, concealing the stars behind their fluffy blanket. We were the only ones in our train carriage, yet the lady with the snack trolley still ambled down to us, kindly and sweetly smiling at us as we examined the options. Since Francis conveniently had some money with him and we had not had any food all day (from what I could remember), he bought each of us a very large and filling sandwich with a drink each, which I greedily consumed the moment I could get my hands on them out of my now very apparent hunger. I guess that just made them taste even better.

I was positively exhausted by the time I got back to the hotel room I shared with Arthur, and therefore collapsed helplessly onto my bed when the door was opened. As it turned out, Francis was staying in the hotel room just three doors down from us, bidding us a polite farewell when we soon got to his door.

In my sleepy haze, I managed to have a quick shower and got changed into my pyjamas, before throwing myself back onto the bed, taking off my glasses, and tucking myself in, letting my eyes close slowly. I feel asleep that night to the soothing sound of curtains gently being pulled shut and a quiet question in the form of my name.

 **Thank you yet again for reading this chapter! I hope that you enjoyed it! Please do drop me a review or tell me how I did as constructive criticism is always appreciated! Again, apologies for the delay and I'll see you next chapter!**


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